Nov 29
what are the
sins of the lonely?
are they kept
in the walls of a home
that cannot weep?
for tears may come
when the fruit is ripe,
but it would taste only
of sweet nothings.
I have kept a world
inside of me,
a world far from the
outdoor light.
that place is no longer
what it once was.
it has aged, as have I.
it craves no more
the soft hum of conversations
about art and life,
nor the company of those
different from me.
it has watched too much
come and go,
watched so much
amount to nothing.
and so, I walk these
empty roads,
this fragile and silent world.
the sins of the lonely
are etched in walls
that will never learn
to weep.
in unwritten letters
to no one,
in a soured world
hidden within.
this mind, this body—
this flesh, these bones—
aged and brittle,
ugly and unloved,
now hold only the ghosts
of what once was.
and I am buried deep,
entombed in this place
that has forgotten itself.
